


Winter's Chill

by Razzaroo



Series: HoB series (working title) [4]
Category: Black Cat
Genre: Gen, pre-House of Bones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 01:10:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2673239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Razzaroo/pseuds/Razzaroo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winter's coming to an end and Rinslet's about to get an unwanted visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter's Chill

It’s the tail end of winter but Rinslet still can’t feel her hands. She stuffs them into her coat pockets, balling them into fists, and keeps her head down. There’s still snow on the ground and a lot of it has turned to brown slush. She tries not to think of where the grey dust comes from; the idea that it might be ash whispers through her mind. The Apostles have been ruthless, after all.

The sight of Annette’s café is a welcome relief and she slips down the side alley, coming in through the kitchen door. The kitchen smells of coffee. Rinslet sighs and leans on the door, stepping out of her boots and unbuttoning her coat. She’s never been fond of winter; it’s all right in the first few weeks, when there are sparkling frosts, and the first snowfall is always nice, but when the snow starts to melt and the grey clouds become oppressive, winter starts to become her least favourite time of year.

“You were longer than usual,” Annette says, looking at her from where she’s washing glasses from the last round of drinks, “On your walk. Where’d you go?”

Rinslet frowns, stripping her coat off, draping it over her arm, “You know where I was. I went to the H—”

“You have a visitor,” Baldor cuts in, gathering up the clean shot glasses from by the sink. Rinslet narrows her eyes at him; he’s supposed to be, on doctor’s orders, on bed rest until he’s properly healed up.

She dumps her coat on the kitchen table and unravels her scarf. She heads through the door that leads to the bar, edging around it. Sitting in the corner table, she sees the man who’s here to see her nursing a glass of whiskey and her breath catches in her throat. Her phone is on the table in front of him.

“Mayor Adair,” she says when she approaches, wetting her lips, “What a surprise.”

John Adair is a tall man with grey-streaked red hair and cold, grey eyes. Long-nosed and thin-faced, he’s not the type of man that Rinslet can imagine people voting for. It stands to reason that he’s only mayor because the Apostles shot his predecessor in the head and put him in office because he’d supplied them with cash when Creed was still laying the foundations.

He swirls the whiskey in the glass and regards her with steely eyes, “Is it really though?” He gestured to the seat opposite, “Sit, please.”

She does, even as his eyes travel past her. She looks to see Baldor watching them, scowling, vodka bottle in hand.

“Your bartender’s a surly thing,” Adair comments.

“It’s the weather,” Rinslet says, hoping that if Baldor’s injury starts to play up, he’ll have the sense to get out of sight, “It’s gets to everyone.”

Adair sighs and sets the glass down. He swipes his finger across the phone screen to unlock it and Rinslet swallows. He flicks through the phone and brings up her text messages.

“Miss Walker,” he says, “How about we agree, here and now, that we’ll be honest with each other?”

Rinslet’s eyes are fixed on her phone, “What do you need me to be honest about?”

He scrolls through her messages, bringing up a particular conversation. His face is casual, almost bored, even as Rinslet’s heart hammers in her throat. Her mouth is as dry as a desert. Adair looks up at her, one eyebrow raised.

“Where’s the Chronos Number?” he asks calmly.

Rinslet swallows, “You’ll have to be more specific, sir.”

Adair holds up the phone, “The Chronos Number, Miss Walker. Number VII. Where is he?”

The conversation that he has on the screen is her most recent one with Jenos. Every last one of the messages of the past few months is from her; Jenos hasn’t responded once, despite how desperate some of her texts seem. She hopes that it’s because he’s just trying to keep a low profile and not because he’s been killed and the Apostles just don’t know it yet.

“I don’t know where he is.”

Adair sighs again and sets the phone down. He allows her to take it back without protest and folds his arms on the table in front of him, whiskey forgotten. Rinslet bites the inside of her cheek as he looks at her with those cold, cold eyes.

“I don’t want to be angry with you, Miss Walker,” he says, “Nor do I want you hurt. With your skills, you could be invaluable in finding and delivering secrets that Chronos wanted to keep buried. But if _you_ don’t want me to be angry and _you_ don’t want to be hurt, you need to tell me the truth.” He pauses, “Even if you don’t know where he is right now, you need to tell us where he was last time you spoke.”

“Last time I spoke to Jenos Hazard was months ago,” Rinslet says, her heart still fluttering with fear, “I couldn’t tell you anything you don’t already know.” She swallows again, “Besides, he’s probably dead already.”

Something dark crosses Adair’s face, “No, I don’t think so. See, when the Apostles find someone, especially someone we’ve been looking hard for, we don’t let them live long and we all know when it happens.”

“He could have been killed when the Apostles went to Chronos HQ.”

Adair’s mouth curves into a humourless smile, “Corpses don’t walk, Miss Walker.”

Rinslet feels her cheeks burn red, even as winter’s chill gusts in as the door opens. Behind her, she hears voices, customers calling out greeting to Annette. Adair downs his whiskey in one swig but his expression doesn’t change.

“I will say that if Creed had any skill in planning ahead, he would have interrogated that captured Number until he drew out the deep, dark secrets of every Chronos Number he could. But he didn’t. You can guess where that Number is now, I’m sure.”

Rinslet’s blood chills, “Yeah, I have a pretty good idea.”

Adair rubs his chin in thought, “Well, I hope you don’t mind my saying, but we might have a problem, Miss Walker.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm. I’m sure you know but there are still minor members of Chronos who hold on to the hope that the Numbers will swoop in again and rally their forces. They hope that the day is not lost for Chronos. Do you know why that’s a problem?”

Rinslet can feel eyes prickling on the back of her neck and she’s sure that Baldor’s listening to every word with one ear, even as Annette’s customers demand his attention.

“I could guess but we might not be thinking of the same thing.”

Adair’s voice drops to a whisper, “Because if they have hope, who’s to say they won’t rebel? Who’s to say that they won’t stir an uprising? Find the surviving Numbers, one by one, and we stamp out that hope. Without hope, the Apostles’ new position becomes less…fragile.”

  Rinslet lowers her voice to a whisper as well, leaning in closer to him, “Creed can’t have much faith if he sees his position as being fragile enough to be destroyed by a few survivors.”

“Creed doesn’t,” Adair’s words take on an edge of anger, “But Creed suffers from hubris. There are those of us who don’t underestimate the power of anger and fear. I try my best to make Creed realise this but until then having a fragile system is more of a risk to him than it is to anyone else.”

“Tell you the truth, I don’t see how the Apostles being shaky can be dangerous to anyone else but them.”

“Oh, it can be,” Adair gives a small nod, “When he realises the risks, Creed will do more than just stamp out the remnants of Chronos. Now, he only despises Chronos and anyone who supported them. But when he’s done with them? He’ll destroy any sign of opposition to him, even if it’s just graffiti on a school desk.” It’s Adair’s turn to wet his mouth, “Can you imagine, Miss Walker? Thousands of people slaughtered, swept aside into Creed’s trash pile because _some_ people decided to withhold information that would make the Apostles less fragile? Do you want that on your conscience?”

“No,” she says, shoulder slumping slightly, “Of course not.”

“I thought so. So you understand the importance of what I’m asking you? We wipe out any potential  opposition from the remnants of Chronos, which would also serve to stamp out hope of successful opposition in the general public,” Adair looks over her shoulder at Baldor, “Do that and Creed might not see them as a threat, which could save their lives.”

He stands up, picking up the whiskey glass. He walks around and stands behind her, leaning down so that his breath whispers across her ear, “Expect another visit from me in a month or so, Miss Walker. I hope the idea of this town reduced to ash jogs your memory a little.”

He sets the empty glass on the bar and leaves the building. New snow blows in when he opens the door. Rinslet sits quietly for a long while, feeling slightly shaken. Her phone lies on the table. The screen’s dimmed now and she watches as it locks on its own, the screen going black. She shakes her head and stands up, shoving her phone into her pocket, and goes behind the bar. She taps Baldor on the shoulder and beckons for him to join her in the kitchen.

“What did he want?” Baldor asks, twisting the white cloth for wiping down the bar in his hands. She can see red spots of blood blooming on his shirt where it’s leaking through the bandages.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” she says, frustrated, “What are you doing downstairs? You’re supposed to be letting that heal!”

“If I stayed up there much longer, I would kill myself,” he says, equally irritated, “It’s not the first time I’ve come down, not that’d you’d have known since _you’re_ allowed to leave the building.”

Rinslet lets out an angry sigh, “You’re bleeding again! Did I pay for that doctor for no reason?”

“A little blood never killed anyone,” he says dismissively, despite his pallor.

“You weren’t saying that when you were bleeding to death.”

“Yeah, well, Kranz never was one for shallow cuts,” his expression darkens, “I’ve done worse work than bartending with worse injuries than this.”

Rinslet feels a hot frustration hum through her veins, aggravated by her jittering nerves from Adair’s words. She looks pointedly at the blood spots on his shirt.

“Look,” she says, fighting to keep her voice level, “It’s not just the injury, OK? Adair’s asking about Chronos Numbers.” She reaches forward to jab at the tattoo on his neck, “What if he’d seen that?”

Baldor shrugs, “He didn’t.”

Before Rinslet can say anything, Annette emerges from the cellar. She raises her eyebrow at them, looking between Baldor and Rinslet. Her teeth grind against her cigarette.

“Last I checked,” she says coolly, “You were minding my bar.”

“I am,” Baldor says, glowering at Rinslet. His hand moves to cover the blood spots and he leaves the kitchen again, the doors swinging shut behind him.

Annette sets down the crate of bottles she’d brought up and lights her cigarette, “What’s up with him?”

“Oh, it’s Baldorias,” Rinslet says, rubbing her temple, “There’s always something up with him.”

“What did the mayor want?” Annette asks. Her voice twisted around the word _“mayor”,_ as if it turned to dirt on her tongue.

“Pestering about Jenos. Dropped a few threats,” Rinslet suddenly feels tired, “I’m not worrying at the moment.”

Annette takes in Rinslet’s ashen face and exhales a slow cloud of smoke. She points to the back door, “Get some air. Don’t need you vomiting on my kitchen floor; I have enough trouble with your pet Number bleeding all over my upstairs floors.”

Rinslet smiles weakly and picks up her coat before heading out again. She lays her coat out on the step in the alley behind the building, illuminated only by the smoky light of a nearby streetlight. Small diamond flakes of snow fall and settle on her head in a white crown. Her breath comes out in small puffs.

“We need to leave soon,” she whispers, huddling in on herself and shaking.

She’s not sure if her shivering is from Adair’s threats or from winter’s chill seeping into her bones.


End file.
